Chapter 34 #2
He takes a step back with his hand being the only thing keeping me upright, pulling me forward from the car.
I can hear the exhale of unresolved desire as he pulls open the door, offers me his hand as I step inside the large black SUV.
His jacket is still draped across my shoulders as I sink into the seat, he pulls the seatbelt across my chest, giving him reason to stay close to me.
Placing a delicate kiss on my lips as it clicks into place.
One I lean into in the seconds before it's gone.
But he just places my purse in my lap, and shuts the door.
I look up at the rearview mirror and see the eyes of the driver, and we share an all-too-telling glance as Hudson walks to the other door and takes the seat next to me.
“Sorry for keeping you waiting, Raul,” I say.
“I’m not,” Hudson replies. His jacket around my shoulders, his hand stretching across my thigh, he wrapped me in something that smells like him, and I don’t know if the smell of this moment will ever leave me. (Worse is that I know I don’t want it to.)
The rest of the drive is silent as we pull up to The Richmond.
It maybe would be easier if I could click back into my hatred of him, maybe that would keep my feelings at bay.
He gets out first and comes around to my door, opens it, because he always opens it, because even in fake marriage he exceeds the real thing.
(Which really has made me question the types of people I’ve dated.)
I hand him back his jacket as I step out and he takes it without comment. Maybe if I remove myself from the cloak of him, I’ll be able to shake this feeling that has overtaken every cell in my body. (Nope, that doesn’t do it.)
We walk side by side, not touching, my hand not in his for the performance of it right now.
We step into the elevator, backs against the same wall, watching the doors close.
The inches between us doing what our shared wall never quite managed, making the space between us feel enormous.
But after the first time, he has been the one to constantly draw the lines and never cross them.
I thought he might, when I was standing in this exact dress, but even then in the privacy of a dressing room, he exercised caution.
Stepping back from me like he always does.
And for once, I’m pissed, because this version of hot-and-cold husband is making me insane, so I snap. (For real this time.)
“I don’t get it,” I say sharply. “YOU said this can’t happen.” I know that whatever possessed him was something he explicitly told me wasn’t an option.
“I know,” he says as he runs his fingers through his hair, somewhat strained.
“But you said it would be a liability.”
“Louisa, trust me. I fucking know.” His voice is rough, agitated, but clearly more with himself than with me. Not even moving his gaze a fraction of an inch from the elevator doors, even if it’s my reflection he’s staring at.
“Then, why do you do it!?” I push, not sure if there’s an answer I want.
“Because for once in my life, I can’t control myself.” He says it with a level of self-hatred.
“I, I don't understand,” I say. “What changed?”
“Nothing.” It’s said through a defeated huff. “That’s the problem.”
“You’re lying,” I say through gritted teeth, before unlocking my jaw to let the rest of it out.
“Because right now you’re standing there looking like you're about to condemn yourself for even touching me. But I want you to.” The sound trails off but he hears it, I can tell as his body adjusts to the words, consenting to a part of him he’s trying to hold back.
This is the longest seven floors I’ve ever experienced, and yet, I’m tempted to stop the elevator all the same. (I won’t.)
“There are things we need to talk about, before this goes any further. Things I need to tell you that could change your mind.”
“Hudson,” I say his name, and his eyes move to mine. “Nothing about you will change my mind.”
From the corner of my eye I can see his chest heaving in a desperate attempt to keep something in. But we are trapped in this space together as the elevator carries us and all our baggage up the seven floors. His eyes narrow with thought, working through the risks of inching closer.
I turn to face him, and he responds as if there’s not an option but to look directly at me. As my lips fall open to speak, the words that jump from his are the last I hear before we crash together.
“Fuck it,” he growls out.
My arms are around his neck and I’m in his.
My dress hiking up around my waist as my legs lock around his back and my back hits the wall of the elevator.
We are ravenous for each other like we each had a taste of something we’ve craved and been in search of ever since. (Which is true, at least for me.)
The elevator dings at our floor and he pushes us off the wall, not releasing me from his grip as I drag my tongue up the column of his neck and he groans in a way I only thought existed between the pages of the novels I narrate.
He makes it down the hallway with me in his arms and to the front door in fewer steps than I imagined possible.
I’m held against him, wrapped my limbs around him, as his one arm holds me up, the other reaching in his pocket for keys, when we hear someone clearing their voice from behind.
I peer over his shoulder to find our neighbor, Mr. Ambrose.
I just bury my face in the crook of Hudson's neck, hiding from embarrassment. “Sorry for the, um, disruption,” he putters out. “I was just coming to leave this under your door.” He hands an envelope to Hudson, who accepts graciously, as if I’m not perched in his arms. “Co-op business.”
“Perfect timing,” he says to the small man.
“Now if you don’t mind, I have business to attend to with my wife.
” The meaning can’t be missed, and certainly isn’t as Mr. Ambrose scurries off back to his door.
“Bye, Mr. Ambrose, I’ll stop by this—” I begin to say down the hall, through giggles as Hudson’s lips suck against my collarbone, and he pushes the apartment door open.
It’s like having cold water thrown on both of us, a grounding reminder of what we are even doing all this for.
Though being in trouble with a co-op board is far less of a gamble than being full-blown deported.
(Though Mrs. Saraceno is pretty scary.) Yet, the second we step inside I slide down the front of his body, feeling every inch of him as I do.
I kick the heels off my feet, losing meaningful inches.
He wordlessly sets the letter down on the entry table and slips his finger into the knot on his bow tie.
Loosening it without ever breaking eye contact with me.
Unbuttoning the collar of his shirt, slipping off his jacket, and dropping it on the floor near my shoes.
I continue to take steps backward into the main room, twisting my arms behind my back, reaching for the zipper of my dress.
The smile that forms on his face is unlike I’ve ever seen before, one that rewrites the rest of the night.
It’s wicked and full, revived from a moment it was robbed of previously.
He takes steps and captures me around the waist. His lips moving against mine as his hand reaches around and drags the zipper down to the base of my back as he works his hands across my bare skin.
It falls to my feet as soon as I allow it, and his eyes crawl across my breasts with gratitude, and he scoops me in his arms faster than I can react.
My fingers make quick work at undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt, pressing kisses to his neck with each one undone.
He takes long strides that land us in his bedroom as he places me on his perfectly made bed, and I lean up on my elbows in nothing but my underwear as he peels his shirt back, rips the undershirt over his head, not wanting to break his stare from where it is on me.
In doing so, leaving his upper body bare.
With each of our torsos naked to the other, imagining the moment they become pressed together again, this time raw skin and sweat.
I’ve never seen him like this. Breathing for the sole purpose of me at this moment.
The tightness of his chest, the hardness of, well, the rest of him, and if this is pretending, I never want to return to reality.
He moves to undo his belt, and something overtakes me, I sit up, reaching for it myself. Making quick work to undo it, pulling down his pants, and freeing the length of him at what can only be described as mouth-level. And it’s too serendipitous to pass up.
I can feel the way he’s looking at me, even though I’m looking at the hard thickness of him, wrapping both of my hands around it. What escapes him is uncontrolled, and sounds like it wants to be my name formed into a gasp for breath.
I sink from the edge of the bed to my knees in front of him. Sitting at his feet, looking up at him, finally seeing the devilish way he’s looking at me, has the moisture between my legs pooling and my mouth watering.
With a hand braced against his thigh, and the other around the base of his cock, the pacing of his chest is begging me without words, and I’m eager to have him in my mouth.
Pulling the tip in between my lips, wet and tightly.
His hand comes down quickly over mine on top of his bare thigh, keeping us pressed together as I begin to move my mouth, taking in more and more of his shaft.